


You are flesh and blood (and you deserve to be loved).

by Sashaya



Series: Prompts [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Good Peter Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Soft Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashaya/pseuds/Sashaya
Summary: Why do you only kiss me when I'm sleeping?
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745740
Comments: 5
Kudos: 218





	You are flesh and blood (and you deserve to be loved).

**Author's Note:**

> _Warning:_ Unbeta'ed work.

He admits – the first few times he could take for a dream. A soft press of dry lips, tasting like coffee and smoke. A shy butterfly kisses, sweet like regrets.

He could’ve dreamt them all, like a greedy, possessive beast that he is.

There’s a pattern to them, though. The dream kisses follow the burning of wandering eyes, a hint of teeth scraping against melting skin. They follow haphazardly lost clothes and long fingers tangled in dark hair, twisting the luxurious sheets.

He could’ve dreamt them all, but he remembers trying to reach plump lips and capture them in a hungry kiss. He remembers the body twisting, baring the moonlight pale throat and losing any coherent thought after.

The kisses keep coming, sweet and quick like wishes, little falling stars. Only when he was almost asleep, only when they can be blamed on dreams ( _and hope, so much hope_ ).

Peter’s not a coward, but he is a strategist, a mastermind. He watches and waits, and enjoys the rabbit heartbeat served along with his nightly kisses.

“Darling boy…” there’s something intoxicating about Stiles, there always were. Now though, when he grew into his limbs and into his mind, it’s difficult to stay away. It’s impossible to keep his hands to himself, so he doesn’t.

He crowds Stiles in the man’s apartment, backs him up against the looming bookshelf, that Stiles loves so much. He traps Stiles between his arms and breathes him in.

He barely remembers the time, when the boy smelled of fear around him. It’s better this way, wonderful when Stiles smells happy and content, and _loving_.

“I have a question, my darling boy.”

“Shoot,” Stiles smiles at him brightly and something in Peter twists, suddenly afraid.

_What if the answer is not the one he’s looking for?_

“I’ve come to an unfortunate conclusion,” he hovers over Stiles, _so close, so close_. “That you only kiss me, when I’m sleeping. Why?”

It’s like someone flipped the switch in his _darling boy_. Stiles straightens up, pulls away as far as possible. His beautiful face seems colder and his whiskey eyes are bottomless.

Peter can only smell heartbreak now and Stiles’ rabbit heart beats too loud in his ears.

“I’m sorry, I know…” Stiles’ voice hitches, an aborted sob shaking his suddenly fragile frame. He swallows hard and takes a deep, steadying breath. “I shouldn’t have. I’m really sorry…”

“Shouldn’t?” Peter’s head spins, for the first time he can’t follow Stiles’ train of thought.

“I know! I said I’m sorry,” Stiles pushes him and the surprise is the only reason why he moves. “I’m leaving, don’t worry. You won’t have… I’m… I won’t bother you.”

“Leaving?” it feels like there’s only one brain cell left in his (pretty) head and it’s only capable of repeating Stiles’ crazy. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Stiles doesn’t look at him, grabs his jacket and almost runs to the door.

Finally, Peter snaps. He reaches for the boy, wolf speed and strength, panic in his chest.

He traps Stiles with his arms, presses him too close to his body and breathes him in.

“Don’t leave me.”

There’s no struggle, no hidden tricks. There’s no deflecting with jokes or too smart quips.

“Don’t leave me,” Peter repeats. “Please, Stiles, I…”

“You?” Stiles seems to be holding his breath.

Peter hesitates. He doesn’t like to show his cards, show his weakness. This is Stiles, though.

_His Stiles._

“I love you,” he whispers. “Please stay with me.”

He laid himself bare and doesn’t dare move, scared. _Peter Hale afraid_. _What a day._

“You could’ve told me,” Stiles’ laugh is wet, but bright.

“I just did.”

“You could’ve told me,” Stiles turns in his arms and looks at Peter. There are tear tracks on his moonlight pale skin, his eyelashes wet and clumped together.

_He’s beautiful._

“I’ve spent _months_ believing that we’re just friends with benefits. I was so afraid you’d notice I’ve fallen for you and you’d leave me!”

“You’re an idiot,” Peter says and kisses Stiles. The boy comes willingly, melting into the ‘wolf’s embrace.

When they pull away, they’re both breathless and Stiles’ cheeks are beautifully red.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles mumbles, pressing their foreheads together.

“You were the one, who wanted to leave your own flat, because of a misunderstanding.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Peter replies with a smirk and kisses the tip of Stiles’ nose.

“That I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to say _hi!_ , pop in at [SharkTofu](https://sharktofu.tumblr.com/). I take prompts now!
> 
> Title's taken from Florence + the Machine "Third Eye".


End file.
